Five More Minutes
by white lotus
Summary: Rude, Reno and a bit of snuggling. Written for anyone who hates getting out of bed on winter mornings.


**A/N** - It's that feeling you get on winter mornings, when you really have no desire to leave the warmth of your bed... Or the person next to you. The generic morning after with a dash (a _dash?_ O.o) of yaoi - hold the angst. Pointless: as it should be.

**Disclaimer - **Final Fantasy VII and its characters are the work of a genius. I am not a genius.

**Five More Minutes**

From the corner closest to the door, he followed the flourishing pattern in the plasterwork across the ceiling, counting curved, pointed leaves until he forgot what number he'd reached and with a mildly irritated, yet amused mental slap, started again.

Not for the first time that morning, he wondered whether it might have been better if he'd woken up with a hangover.

The irony was that they had initially intended to go out and get thoroughly brain-rotten drunk, but somehow it just never reached that point. The door had opened as he was leaving the bathroom, and before either of them had realised what was going on, the evening's plans had been placed on indefinite hold while they pursued the more intriguing task of eagerly re-discovering forgotten territory. He tried to excuse this with the fact that both had been lazy about it anyway - there hadn't been much for his visitor to do, really, except untuck the towel around his waist and lead him like a child to bed before whatever happened next had a chance to occur on the floor. Or the table. Or against the wall…

It seemed slightly unfair when one considered that the other half of the exchange had required a good deal more work: There was the crumpled heap of black micro fibre that was a blazer, lying lonely and dejected on the polished wooden panels by the door, a white shirt flung carelessly onto a chair, glasses lost amongst the creases, and further along, another crumple of micro fibre at the foot of the bed, like a dirty joke that still made his lips twitch irresistibly.

It was almost morning now, and the confusing remnants of last night's misadventures still clung to the pre-dawn chill, sharp and slightly uncomfortable as they attempted to invade the warm privacy of the sheets that lay rucked in crumpled gatherings of pale blue about his still form. Both had succeeded enough times already, rushing in abruptly to settle on a thought exposed and induce a fervent shiver of disconcerting... There it was again. Thirty-seven or thirty-nine? Argh, what the heck...

In the near distance, he could hear the ocean, the hiss of surf laced with mournful wailing of gulls brought in by the wind. The view from the window would have never suggested that Junon had a Mako reactor only several hundred metres away from this Inn. He brooded in the semi-darkness for a bit. The prospect of being forced to get up wasn't a pleasant one.

But he would deal with that later. For now, he was still counting, having moved onto the small star-shaped flowers that adorned the leaves, and he'd beaten his previous record of thirty-nine at that. Or had it been thirty-seven? A gentle stirring shifted the tuck of blanket at his shoulders and cold air made his skin rise in gooseflesh, but he was still counting with a fierce determination because he'd reached forty-three now... Or was it forty-five? No, it was definitely... Oh, darn. Lost it again.

And this time it wasn't due to stray thoughts. There was a hand. A cool, familiar hand with deft fingers trailing teasing patterns across his chest and down to his stomach. It was dreadfully distracting. And those warm, moist lips on his neck... Yeah, counting could wait for later, perhaps...

"G'mornin', yo," murmured a sleepy voice in his ear.

The sheets were disturbed and he shivered again, but this time out of pleasure as a pair of slender arms wrapped about his shoulders and he turned to face a complacent smile and a cat-like, half-hooded blue gaze drowsily considering him from behind crimson bangs. Then his feline bedfellow shut his eyes and snuggled up against him, murmuring nonsense to play like tantalizing caresses over bare skin.

"Mmmn, you're so warm."

Pretty little redheaded plaything. Every last inch, his to use and abuse.

But those marks on his neck... They could be a problem.

"Don't go back to sleep, we're on today."

"No. We're not."

"Reno," he sighed.

"Nnngh... Don't _move_." The lips parted in a pout against the hollow of his neck. There was a pause. Then Reno looked up and grinned with the air of an insatiable Cheshire Cat. "You know... That was fun. We really should do this more often."

Rude let his hand slither along the ridges of Reno's spine, up to cradle the back of his head and pressed a slow, aching kiss to his mouth. "Sure... As long as we're done in time for breakfast."


End file.
